


C'mon Man

by wood_originals



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wood_originals/pseuds/wood_originals
Summary: Tig wants to share his technological milestones with Juice. Also phone sex.
Relationships: Juice Ortiz/Tig Trager
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	C'mon Man

Juice was good with computers. He could hack pretty well, he knew his way around some basic coding, he knew the jargon and the components required to make something run smoothly. He could dig up most information the club needed that didn’t require a professional hacker. It made him useful, and helpful, and he liked to be those things. It also accidentally made him the resident computer expert and tech support for a bunch of old tough guys.

Juice had seen some pretty hefty viruses from some pretty shady websites. He’d had to retrieve toolbars, convert images and open zip files. He didn’t mind it mostly, it was kind of funny and somehow they always thought it just as incredible as hacking into some database or another. Sometimes he’d catch Jax’s eye, or one of the girls around and they’d share a commiserative little smile. Mostly it was just a private joke with himself.

Tig though – Tig was something else. Every once in a while he would call over to Juice, usually while he was busy.

“How do you send a picture on a phone?”

“Are you sending it in an email or a text?” Juice would ask, half paying attention.

“On a phone,” Tig would reply like the question was asinine which would pull Juice’s attention away from whatever he was doing.

“Are you sending it to a phone number or an email address?”

Somehow Tig knew instinctively and intrinsically how long to wait so they would have this exact conversation again and again and Juice wouldn’t notice until it was too late. Juice would give instructions and Tig would be uncomprehending until the younger man offered to just do it for him, at which point Tig would hand over his phone and Juice would be greeted by a picture of Tig’s cock.

Not the same picture either, he’d seen it in various states of hardness and undress. Sometimes his hand was wrapped around it, sometimes there was a lazy trail of cum on his hip, one time there was a tongue waiting beneath it. Regardless, Juice fell for it every time. Including this time.

“C’mon man,” he sighed, feeling his cheeks burn.

But he helped him send it to whomever, like he always did. Flicking it off into cyberspace with a few button taps.

“Learn how to do this yourself,” Juice said, pushing the phone into Tig’s chest.

“Maybe I already know,” Tig teased with a grin.

“Then why do I have to keep looking at your dick?” Juice retorted.

“You know why,” Tig purred and winked at him.

-

The clock on Juice’s bedside table told him it was 3:12 AM and his phone told him that he’d received a text message. And then another. It buzzed across the surface, lighting the darkness into softer grey shadows. He reached out for it because it might be one of the guys, it might be something important.

The bright screen made him wince at first, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

It was one of the guys. It was not important.

Juice was looking at another picture of Tig’s cock – and it struck him as mildly disturbing that he didn’t have to see the sender to know that.

The following message merely read: ‘U up? I am’.

Juice pushed his face into his pillow, but the image was now burned in negative against his eyelids. He groaned, and returned to his phone, still squinting against the brightness.

‘C’mon man’ he sent, giving his usual rebuke.

Following it up with ‘I see you sent that just fine.’

It felt like a very clever thing to say, a very ‘gotchya’ moment. But his phone began to ring in his hands, Tig was calling him. The phone buzzed against his palm and the light glowed across his skin, Juice watched it for one ring, two rings, three…

And then, strangely, he picked it up.

Juice wasn’t sure why he picked it up because he knew that it was going to be Tig breathing heavy against his ear. Maybe if it were one of the other guys it would be a frantic apology, that it was an image meant for someone else and that they wanted him to pretend it never happened. But even if it had been some mix up, Juice’s name close to a Julie in his contacts, Tig wouldn’t be calling to apologize.

“I’m sharing my technological milestones with you. I thought you’d be happy,” Tig’s voice was low in the way that happened late at night. He didn’t pant against the phone like a serial killer, but the way his breath became words still felt charged and warm.

Juice chuckled, settling in against his pillow on his back, letting his eyes fall shut again and his free arm rest comfortably above his head. Maybe it was just nice to be thought of at 3 AM, maybe that’s why he answered.

“I’m thrilled for you and your rock hard cock,” Juice yawned.

Tig breathed in sharp. “Oo baby say it again.”

The thing about Tig was he was always joking, and he was always serious. He was never responsible for anything that came out of his mouth.

Juice felt his skin goose bump, a shiver crawling its way down his spine making him restless and uncomfortable in his sheets. He rolled over onto his side. “What, that I’m thrilled for you?”

“I’ll take what I can get.” Tig answered, his breath hitched.

Juice bit into his lower lip, it was a surreal moment, knowing with almost complete certainty that Tig had his hand around his cock at that moment. That every sound and breath was being pressed to Juice’s ear as though he were right there. That all that separated them was space.

All that ever really separated them was space.

“Sounds like you,” Juice answered, just to say something, just so he was not just quietly listening to Tig’s exhales and the way he sucked in air through his teeth. His eyes opened even though it was only his empty bedroom he saw, his tongue skirted his lower lip and he spoke again. “What did you want, though?”

There were a great many ways to take that question, the most obvious being that Juice was wondering why Tig would wake him up at 3 AM just to jerk off in his ear when he could be doing literally anything else.

Another was a question of what he’d really meant to be doing in this moment instead, because obviously this was not his intention. Who had he been trying for when he ended up with Juice?

And then there was the way that sounded an awful lot like what can I do for you? How can I help?

Juice knew how he meant it but he wasn’t sure how Tig would hear it.

This was a dream he was living. Not in the sense of a fantasy but the life-like dreams that felt a little like a memory when he first woke up. The ones where he was stuck in the post office line forever. This was that in reverse. A real moment that felt made up, riddled with dream logic. His mind was slow to react, his limbs were heavy and his skin prickled with the aching reality that he was not being touched even though Tig was panting against his ear.

Sometimes the disconnect of technology caught up with him. 

“I wanted to hear your voice,” Tig answered, and Juice could see the crooked smile he was wearing when he did.

His mind filled in the rest of the picture too, Tig with the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could have both hands. Tig with porn on mute and his legs spread wide. Tig with his ever-present wrist cuffs still on and nothing else.

The way the sheets touched Juice was too warm and too close, he had to kick them off, twisting onto his back again. Even in the cool and open air little thrills of heat worked their way towards the core of him. He thoughtlessly put his restless free hand down the front of his briefs, letting his fingers cup over the familiar heat of his cock, half hard under his palm.

“So what,” Juice breathed. “You woke up hard and now I gotta tell you what I’m wearing?”

Tig chuckled. “I’d rather hear about what you’re not wearing.”

Juice’s skin tingled, feeling exposed and wide awake. He watched the ceiling in the darkness and chuckled nervously. “I’m not good at this.”

“You’re doing fine, baby,” Tig encouraged and it was that gentle tone more than anything that coaxed Juice to hardness under his hand. He tried to stifle the embarrassing little sound that came from his throat but Tig must have heard it. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Technically,” Juice laughed, breathless.

“What’s _technically_ touching yourself feel like?” Tig asked.

Juice felt his cheeks burn, his fingers had come to circle himself loosely, his thumb dragging back and forth over warm skin. Barely a touch at all. His hips shifted, restless, searching for that friction.

“Are you touching yourself?” he returned to Tig, stalling, knowing full well that Tig was stroking himself off. That hadn’t been in question since the phone rang.

“Don’t avoid the question,” Tig admonished. “What’s it feel like?”

“Good,” Juice replied, his mouth dry and his hand tightening around himself. “Really good.”

His hips pushed up again though he had to release himself briefly to push down the constricting material of his briefs. They settled, tangled at the tops of his thighs, pulled down only as far as necessary. Juice’s hand wrapped around himself again, his thumb over the tip. The action smeared the slick of precum down over him. Down over the scar of his circumcision, jagged to look at but smooth to the touch. “Fuck, Tig.”

On the other end Tig sucked in a breath and groaned, a low pleased sound that came all the way from his chest and made a home for itself at the base of Juice’s cock with a throb of pleasure. “My name feels good in your mouth, I can think of something else that would too.”

The teasing brushes of his fingers and the loose hold of his hand weren’t cutting it anymore, Juice wrapped his hand around himself properly. Just skin against skin in the dark like he was a teenager again, he stroked himself in time with the rhythm of his frantic pulse. Little noises slipped from him, gasps and hitches he wasn’t trying to hide and wouldn’t have been able to help making anyways.

“There’s a good boy, just like that. Make yourself feel good thinkin’ about choking on my cock,” Tig’s words grew filthier, describing thoughts and actions and the kinds of things he’d do to him if he was within reach. The heat they created in him crackled along his nerve endings, filling his veins, building and pooling into something that couldn’t be stopped.

Juice didn’t understand how he got there, phone pressed to his ear and Tig on the other end speaking him into that desperate overheated place where he moaned not just because he could but so Tig could hear it. Seeking the praise that was woven in amongst the filthy narrative and made everything feel so much better and touched deeper than he’d ever really considered possible. 

The friction of his calloused hand around his cock stung in places, little catches of skin. He paused a moment to spit in his hand and he could hear Tig laugh. “Just doing yourself dry huh?”

The mouth-warm spit did the trick anyways and Juice let his head press back into the pillow, his back arched. “Not anymore,” he answered.

“Nothing wrong with that, just makes me think of catching you in a rest stop bathroom. Up against the door so no one walks in but no time for anything but spit and skin -”

With his eyes squeezed shut Juice could see it all, smell the cheap soap and wet paper scent of a rest stop bathroom, feel Tig’s breath on his ear, his body close…

Juice came, the tension of his body being pulled tight like a bow with the arch of his back releasing across his chest. It felt like the first drop of a roller coaster, beyond his control but by his actions. The warm fluid fell across his chest and abdomen, a spattering hit all the way up at the cupid’s bow of his collar bone. He was left panting against the mattress, blinking spots from his vision and trying to clear the cotton from his ears as he returned to himself.

The phone was still pressed to his ear. “Tig?”

“Atta boy, Juice,” Tig laughed, voice low but the heated edge had left him. Maybe he’d finished too while Juice was lost in his but he couldn’t really be sure. “That’s all I wanted.”

Juice shook his head, wiping his hand absently against the bunched material of his briefs. He had to remember not to fall asleep like this, but his eyes were already closed and the bed was so warm. “Can I ask why?”

Tig’s voice returned to him, smug and amused. “You know why.”

And without saying goodbye he hung up.

Juice folded the phone shut against his cheek. He fought to open his eyes again but it was a losing battle and he was dimly aware he was going to have to unstick himself from his sheets and shower first thing in the morning. The last thought to float lucidly through his head was that lying there like he was, in the warm afterglow, his own cooling orgasm painted on overheated skin, he would make a really good picture to send to Tig.


End file.
